


Never Gonna Give You Up

by 12drakon



Series: Make Jazz Not War [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, Captivity, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jazz Being Awesome, Prisoner of War, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sensory Deprivation, Spies, Spies & Secret Agents, Sticky, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12drakon/pseuds/12drakon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Summary of Never Gonna Give You Up by Anonymous</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Soundwave has Jazz captured and after the initial telepathic interrogation, keeps him in his quarters for personal reasons. The saboteur is trying to escape again and again, while Soundwave also never gives up, stopping Jazz again and again, as gently as he can. On one of his escape attempts Jazz runs into Vortex and gets seriously hurt. Blind and deaf, shackled hand and foot, with only subwoofer vibrations keeping him from sensory net and processor glitches, Jazz finally realizes he can’t escape without help. He decides to conserve his strength and wait for his rescue.</p><p> <b>Never Gonna Give You Up, continued</b></p><p>Survive, escape, sabotage is the standard order of priorities for a captured spec ops Autobot. But his decision to abandon escape plans for the sake of survival backfires, throwing Jazz into deathly lethargy broken only by occasional bouts of despair. When help finally arrives, Jazz takes a risk and reorders his personal priorities for who he really is: first and foremost, the saboteur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Never Gonna Give You Up](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/140627) by Anonymous. 



> Big thanks to [SunnySidesofBlue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnySidesofBlue/pseuds/SunnySidesofBlue/works) for beta reading, editing, and encouragement. Jazz and Soundwave send their (independent and separate) regards, and pledge all of the juicy bits from their clandestine recordings of the ‘Cons and ‘Bots, correspondingly. 
> 
> Breem is about eight minutes, klik is about one minute, and nanoklik is a very brief moment.
> 
> This story is the continuation and ending to _Never Gonna Give You Up_ , an awesome story by Anonymous. Thank you, Anonymous! I suggest reading this Preface, then Parts 1-8, then the rest here.
> 
> **Preface**
> 
> _Soundwave was watching a dozen streaming surveillance feeds, some from cameras inside the Nemesis, some from his cassettes, some from aerial drones. He quietly enjoyed the familiar feeling: his sensory net extending without bounds, as if he was free to fly all over the Earth or crawl through the narrow air vents of the Decepticon base._
> 
> _That feeling of unbound freedom came with the twin sensation of power. Soundwave put a time marker on the file showing a dark corridor where Swindle traded something - probably something prohibited - to one of the seekers. He’d check later. The telepath cycled through other, unremarkable feeds for a while, until one of the high-altitude drones alerted him to a lonely Autobot signature in an unusual location. Soundwave zoomed the camera in to investigate._
> 
> Parts 1-8 of Never Gonna Give You Up: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/4370.html?thread=3806482#t3806482

When Jazz rebooted, his visor was back and the music was on. He felt disgusted and didn’t know why, his processor sluggish as if he hadn’t just defragmented. A memory file retrieved itself - a story the Witwickys once told him about a furry species of organics using rewards to train a human named Pavrov or Pavlov to ring their favorite bells and fetch treats whenever they expelled their mouth lubricant. The file seemed corrupted and made as little sense as his life these days. Jazz shrugged and went to sit in his corner, back to the walls, knees hugged to chest, helm hanging down, and visor dimmed. 

A breem later, Soundwave appeared in front of him. **Soundwave: back soon. Precautions: necessary,** he projected, locking the saboteur’s ankles in addition to the already locked wrists. Soundwave turned Jazz so that his right side was against one wall and his back against the other, tucked his elbows between his knees and chest, magnetized his right wrist and right ankle shackles to the wall, and took away his visor. Jazz did not resist any of that, did not say anything. Did not flinch when Soundwave kissed him goodbye. He felt a quick scan within his processor, and a backwash of feelings through the link: confusion, pity, and disappointment. The reality of the subdued captive was very far from Soundwave’s expectations of all the good times they would have as soon as Jazz stopped fighting.

**~~~**

**Audios: delayed.**

It was late in the evening when the words appeared in Jazz’s processor, accompanied by the projection of Soundwave’s displeasure and a pat on the helm. Jazz screamed and jolted violently. He had spent a long day in a soundless, blurred world with only the vibrating walls for company, and had had no warning that Soundwave was home. The saboteur felt his shackles deactivate and got his visor reattached by hurrying hands, but he didn’t even move to stretch. He kept sitting as he was, trembling and trying to stop it, loathing his day, his week, and his life.

As soon as Jazz’s shaking subsided, he was pulled up by his hand. Soundwave walked him to the berth, and he followed like a drone. When Soundwave let go, Jazz’s hand dropped listlessly. His face was turned aside, his visor focused at infinity beyond the wall. In his peripheral vision he saw the telepath tilt his helm this way and that, examining what Jazz supposed looked like a strutless statue of himself. Was Soundwave planning something worse than the light molesting he’d been doing since the Vortex incident, or was he just ogling his captive after being away all day?

Jazz’s fear and disgust barely stirred, buried deep under a thick stratum of lethargy. He had felt numb through the whole long inspection; he kept feeling numb when Soundwave took him by the shoulders, turned him to the berth, and gently pushed down. Jazz lay down prone, leaning his side into the vibration-music of the wall. He was vaguely aware he was exposing his back to the enemy, but did not care to move.

**Stimulation: beneficial.** Jazz received the words, then felt a telepathic uplink, a push on his pleasure center, and gentle strokes on his hip. Like the racecar he was, he went from apathy to full despair in 2.9 nanokliks. He sobbed, snapped his legs closed, and curled up tightly. He’d heard Megatron sometimes pushed mechs into a smelter - maybe he could hack the console again and call Megs “buckethead” until that was done to him? Was that spool of wire still around - maybe he could hang himself from the corner of the berth?

As confused as his thinking was, he knew the plans flitting through his processor were ridiculous. But their grotesque stupidity apparently made Jazz’s very real death wish even more disconcerting to Soundwave, who hastily removed his hand and withdrew his mental presence. As for Jazz, that feeling was… not good, of course, it was awful and beyond, yet his own feeling rather than the numbness. Wanting to die reminded him he was alive.

**~~~**

Jazz did not recharge that night, and refused energon next morning. To Soundwave’s protests he retorted that he wasn’t spending all that much fuel while bound hand and foot.

Soundwave left for his duties again. At least Jazz was told so while being shackled to his corner, but he could not check. He knew his sensory net would go berserk without the music, but with the whole room vibrating, he could not feel the steps when Soundwave moved around. What if someone else came? That had been a constant fear. Last night, the telepath forgot Jazz could not see or hear when someone entered the berthroom. Sitting there with nothing to do, Jazz could not help but imagine many other things Soundwave could forget or neglect. Say, what amusements might the clever Rumble and Frenzy invent for a deaf and blind Autobot shackled to the wall?

Even imagining torments could not reboot his processor out of its flat indifference. Jazz thought it must be some sort of a magnificent anti-achievement - that the best moment of his previous few days was when a bout of suicidal despair unsettled Soundwave. Still, leverage was leverage. If feeling and being on the brink of deactivation was what it took to shoo the telepath, Jazz would go that way. And that way was such an easy downhill drive…

Convinced that he was alone, Jazz went limp against the walls, losing himself in repetitive vibrations. That drum beat could match several songs. He imagined listening to his favorite among them, willing himself to have some recharge in relative peace while Soundwave was out.

He was close to dozing off when he felt a ghost of touch against his shoulder. He jerked awake, clenched his knees together, and tried to look around, silently cursing his useless optics. There were no new shapes he could see. Then a hand covered his, warm and solid. Wrong size, wrong feel, definitely not Soundwave’s! Jazz panicked and tried to bolt, nearly dislocating his wrists.

He still couldn’t see anything, and the hand wasn’t there anymore. Was his sensory net glitching? Sooner or later it would, the way he now lived. He reset his optics, saw nothing, reset them again, and again. A shadow did appear. It was a mech about Jazz’s height, standing still, maybe savoring his helplessness, he thought bitterly. If he could see color, he’d figure out who it was… The shadow slowly grew closer, and Jazz gritted his denta, shaking in his bonds and struggling to intake air through hitching vents. When something moved over him, the saboteur automatically jerked his head back, banging his helm on the wall. But his visitor… bowed? Yes, the mech put his head where Jazz’s hands could reach, and kept still. Vulnerable. Jazz’s fingers lightly touched the smooth metal of a cheek, then a long elegant vent. He gasped and leaned his face close. Within the palm-sized field where his optics could focus, he saw the side of a distinctive hyperbolic helm. 

“Mirage?” Jazz whispered.

The helm nodded in his hands, then withdrew, and Mirage sat down next to Jazz. The action spoke louder than words and the deaf mech heard. A caring friend was by his side, but a deadly spec op fighter was between him and his enemies. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders: the first touch since his capture that did not threaten hurt or humiliation. Jazz’s vents stalled, and before he could stop himself, he was keening and sobbing uncontrollably.

Jazz felt much better after that. His thoughts, so sluggish earlier, were now racing like the twin Lamborghinis on fresh high grade. His sensory net wasn’t glitching yet: Mirage’s electro-disruptor must have been on earlier. They knew not to use comm. links, or the waves would be detected right away by the Nemesis surveillance. “The slagger has security cameras in here,” said Jazz, and Mirage gave his shoulder a squeeze in acknowledgement, but did not move. That probably meant he already took care of the cameras.

Jazz asked, “Can you do anything about these shackles?” Another gentle squeeze - ooh, that felt so good - and Mirage leaned over for a closer look. The saboteur jumped at the sudden angry reverb of an engine and a strong tremor: the usually restrained noblemech punched the floor. He must have noticed the telltale lack of a certain cover, and the obvious scars not yet fixed by self-repairs. Jazz pressed his knees together again and turned away, face leaning on the wall, hands balled into fists. “Slaggin’ ‘Cons,” he hissed through his clenched denta. Mirage hugged him once more, very softly this time, then seemed to brace himself, and for the next klik Jazz’s wrists felt pulls, pushes, and pokes of a quick, thorough testing of the shackles. “One squeeze for ‘Yes’ and two for ‘No’,” suggested the saboteur. Mirage gave his hand two squeezes, then stroked it in consolation. He could not get the shackles off.

“Ya looped the camera feed, right?” Jazz asked just to be sure. One squeeze. That made the most sense among their several standard procedures, since the saboteur was so immobile. And bound or not, with one of his team here, he was back to his Autobot officer self. At least for now, while Mirage was right next to him holding his hand. But his friend could not pry him off the wall. Mirage would have to leave - would have to leave him… His vents hitched just thinking about that, and he took several steadying air intakes. Still, the real Jazz was back in business, making plans.

“Got a datapad in your subspace?” One squeeze. “Turn the brightness and contrast on max and zoom in all the way. If it’s about five centimeters from my optics, I can read.” In a klik, Jazz saw a bright rectangle in front of his face. Large Neocybex capitals in a subtly elegant font read: “ _DO YOU NEED MEDICAL AID? SORRY I AM SO LATE. I WILL KILL HIM._ ”

Jazz gave a short sad laugh. “So, so glad ya here, Mirage. I don’t need first aid - they patch me up. I’m sure you came when you could. The ‘Cons were searching all over for you. But killing…” His voice caught. He fantasized of revenge, of course. He would force Swindle into one of those compactors humans used to scrap their cars, and record with ‘Con’s own slagging camera how the fragger turned into a neat little cube. And Vortex, oh yeah, he would shoot him execution style: blast his processor, spark, and t-cog. The Constructicons who’d beat him up, the seekers who’d captured him, why not? Soundwave… Jazz put out his hand, and it was held. “Mirage, if Soundwave offlines, all his brats will slowly die from system failure, unless they suicide from pain. Blaster told me once, when I asked how he’d missed point blank. Where do we stop? It wasn’t just Soundwave who did things to me…” Jazz felt Mirage jolt at that, and continued in the firm tone of command: “No! No killings, but I do need to take care of Soundwave. I just want outta here, but I’m not gonna give him up. Let’s work on a plan.” He smiled, execution style. Then his expression changed from predatory to worried, and he pleaded: “Is Prowl okay? Vortex said he…” Jazz could not finish.

**~~~**

They talked into the afternoon, sharing Mirage’s stash of good Autobot high grade. Mirage had the corridor bugged and monitored, but as usual, nobody entered the quarters during the day. They thought it prudent not to link directly before Jazz could be thoroughly checked for viruses. So Jazz spoke, and Mirage sent his replies to the datapad via a cable to his wrist port. He only left Jazz’s side to hack Soundwave’s console to download intel and to breach the firewalls for quick access should their future plans require it.

Mirage explained that his disruptor had malfunctioned and triggered the alarm. Because of that, he’d had to leave the Nemesis during the big search the ‘Cons had ran for him. The disruptor still wasn’t fully repaired, so he kept it turned off as much as he could. He had never received Jazz’s desperate comm. messages, since the Nemesis was EM-shielded from within. On the other hand, having been out, he had the latest news from the Ark.

The saboteur almost broke into sobs again when more and more names appeared on the screen, as if Mirage brought the Autobot army with him. Prowl (not a scratch on him from battles) had worked himself into stasis lock by running tactical simulations for days without recharge as he’d tried to figure out the best ways to bring Jazz back. Of course Vortex had lied: the ‘Cons had lost a big battle that very day when he had tortured Jazz. The Autobots had battled to distract the Decepticons from Mirage’s rescue mission, and to get some prisoners to trade. This last part had not worked, because Blaster and others had gone so berserk on the battlefield that the ‘Cons had retreated in a hurry. Optimus had been negotiating with Megatron for Jazz’s release, but so far, all offers had been rejected. Officers had had to lock Bumblebee in the brig when he’d tried to sneak away with some crazily complicated heroic plan of letting the ‘Cons capture and interrogate him, so he could plant false intel that would cause them to let Jazz go.

“ _SOUNDWAVE USED ALL HIS INFLUENCE WITH MEGATRON TO KEEP YOU_.” Mirage typed, relaying what he’d spied while on the Nemesis. “ _MEGATRON IS GETTING ANGRY WITH HIM. I LISTENED IN ON THEM AND THAT’S HOW I FINALLY FOUND YOU. I LOOKED IN THE BRIG, I LOOKED IN THE INTERROGATION ROOM, IN THE MEDBAY..._ ” Mirage reached out and held Jazz by hand for a bit before continuing, “ _I THOUGHT THEY’D KILLED YOU AND WEREN’T SAYING. BUT MEGATRON CHEWED SOUNDWAVE’S HEAD OFF FOR FRATERNIZING. SOMETHING ABOUT VORTEX AND SWINDLE IN THE MEDBAY FOR DAYS, SO BRUTICUS WAS OUT OF COMMISSION. AND ABOUT SOUNDWAVE NOT COMING TO MEETINGS, OR BEING LATE. AND ABOUT USING CONSTRUCTICONS FOR PRIVATE HIDE-AND-SEEK GAMES. MEGS YELLED AT SOUNDWAVE LIKE HE WAS STARSCREAM. TOLD HIM TO KEEP HIS LOYALTIES STRAIGHT. I COULD NOT BELIEVE MY AUDIOS_.”

“Now, that’s veeery interesting!” Jazz drawled. “How far back did you retrieve security footage from those cameras? I have an idea…”


	2. Chapter 2

With Mirage on guard in an air vent, Jazz felt quite relaxed. He’d spent the late afternoon in deep recharge. As much as he wanted to keep talking, he needed his energy and his clarity of processor for their plan. He was rehearsing details of the plan in his head, and practicing ways to keep Mirage out of his thoughts, when the vibrations of the music stopped. Soundwave must be back, using the change to warn his captive he was about to get close. Jazz ex-vented quietly. This was going to be chancy. The telepath could sense his emotions and read his surface thoughts even without a deep thorough scan.

A Soundwave-size shadow appeared close by, and a familiar hand stroked Jazz’s helm. The saboteur leaned into the touch, smiling a little and projecting his genuinely good mood. He sensed a brush against his processor, and a wave of surprised glee from the telepath, who promptly turned the shackles off and gave Jazz his visor.

“Soundwave, have you ever heard of a human named Pavlov?” Jazz said, then wondered if this obfuscated hint he was onto his captor’s subjugation tricks was too risky. He also had to keep his tone and his EM field at “somewhat okay” rather than “giddy with hope.” To dampen his mood, he retrieved the memory file of his beat-down by the Constructicons: not too disturbing, but unpleasant enough.

**Negative. Jazz: feeling better?** Soundwave projected into his mind. The saboteur got up and stretched in one graceful, sinuous move.

He did not have to be a telepath to know how that view made Soundwave feel. Jazz firmly suppressed the churning of his tanks and answered lightly, “Ya know, I’ve been thinkin’. Nothing else to do.” He stepped toward Soundwave and continued, his face now serious.

“Slag, this is hard to say… I believe you care about me, beyond just a frag toy. You stopped calling me “pet.” You stopped touching me last time when I felt down and it was making me feel worse. If you can change, I can change. I don’t wanna offline, not really. And I can’t... “ This still stung. “I can’t escape by myself. So I decided to make things… better.” All that was technically true. Jazz held onto that thought, and hoped any conflicting feelings would be seen as the natural turmoil over giving up.

Soundwave stared in disbelief, then hugged Jazz, who leaned in but did not hug back. He didn’t want to overdo his friendliness. **Jazz’s audios: arrived** The telepath reached into his subspace and pulled out a device. It looked nothing like Jazz’s old audio horns, but like bulky human headphones crafted in a silvery alloy matching his shackles. Slag it: the audios were detachable! But Jazz could live with that, because… _Because now at least I can hear, yes how nice it would be to hear again, oh yeah, thank you, Soundwave_ \- he hastily overwrote the original thought, _not for long,_ with technically-true-ones he wanted Soundwave to sense.

“Thank you, Soundwave,” Jazz purred out loud as well, and smiled. Soundwave plugged the audios into a port on the side of saboteur’s helm and fastened them in place. Jazz felt a small upload as the new component synched with his system, without any permission from his nonexistent firewalls of course, but he did not mind: just like that, he could hear.

Slag, it did feel good to hear again! Even if what he heard was his captor’s voice: “Jazz: welcome. Jazz’s well-being: a concern.” Soundwave sounded happy. He was buying it… _sharing my joy_ , the saboteur thought, getting better and better at this doublethink game. He realized that for the first time since he had rebooted in the ‘Con brig, he was simply having fun.

Yes, Jazz was in his element again, acting out a plan and improvising in response to his counterpart’s moves. “Suggestion: celebrate,” Soundwave said, and paused. A suggestion, eh? Not an order? That part was unexpected, but a bonus, not a threat. Jazz nodded, projecting his sincere satisfaction. Soundwave pulled two cubes of energon out of subspace, and the saboteur did not want any, but forced himself… _decided to join for relaxation and company_. Jazz lifted his cube in a salute. Soundwave hesitated, then copied the gesture. Didn’t ‘Cons cheer one another when drinking? Or were they too creeped out to drink with the telepathic surveillance officer?

They drank and dispersed the cubes. Soundwave hugged Jazz by his shoulders and gently led him to the berth, not pushing in the slightest when his captive hesitated and dragged his feet. Jazz expected advances and planned to play along, but could he stop it all from going too far… _going too far too fast, that would be bad, so soon after Vortex. It will take time to get in the mood_.

In truth, even that thought of Vortex could not spoil Jazz’s mood. They sat down on the berth, Soundwave retracted his mask, slowly leaned over, and their lips met. Jazz put his arms on dark-blue shoulders, pulled the telepath closer, and responded to the kiss with enthusiasm that was surprisingly easy to fake… _to show_. Was that because he was slightly tipsy from the extra energon, or totally intoxicated by hope? He moaned, turned to the side for a better angle to the ceiling camera because that was such a good shot… And Soundwave broke their kiss, no doubt having read that thought loud and clear.

Oops. Jazz smiled bashfully. “It makes me… excited that I am acting like this on camera. A bit of a thrill, ya know?” Thinking of the ongoing recording did make him feel good, because… _what if someone else watched, so naughty, or what if I watched later, in fact what if you and I watched together? I’ve always dodged cameras in spec ops, but now I do not have to, not anymore_. Soundwave chuckled, said “Jazz: safe here,” and returned to their kiss.

That was the first time since his capture - no, ever - when Jazz heard the stoic surveillance officer laugh. Would he laugh more, or even less, if a certain saboteur wasn’t around? Maybe smiling as Ravage played with a ball, or chuckling at Rumble’s corny jokes... It was dizzying how much that changed Jazz’s mental image of his captor, but it gave a good lead to something he wanted to do next.

When their lips parted, Jazz pulled his feet up to the berth, sitting in the most relaxed way that still kept his interface equipment covered. That habit would last a while, he thought with a pang of nausea he fought down. “How was your day, my mech?” he asked casually. Soundwave frowned, apparently at a loss for how to react to the sudden domesticity. Jazz felt the scan deepen, and by the way of explaining himself, brought up the memory file he had in the short queue, because… _because it made me feel good, it was lonely sitting here all day, but nice to be with someone who’s happy to just chat_. Jazz assumed Soundwave saw the simple memory of Autobot officers, sitting back with their feet kicked up on the table, laughing and joking good-naturedly, sipping energon, and talking about their day - nothing of consequence, just friendly relaxation. Ironhide opened his mouth and spoke. The exact words had been lost to time, but the memory showed how all of the officers, even Prowl, threw their heads back and laughed.

Still Soundwave hesitated, probably unsure what he could discuss with his… whatever else Jazz was, he was still an Autobot prisoner. “Energon supplies: sufficient today,” the telepath managed cautiously. In response to the sarcastic “Really?” and an incredulous look Jazz gave him for that fascinating anecdote, he blurted out loud what was no doubt on his mind: “Megatron: suspects Jazz and Soundwave.”

That was useful. Jazz made his electromagnetic field into the very model of care and empathic worry, but he also shuddered in fear. Like the habit to sit in certain ways, those tremors promised to keep happening for a while.

Who knew what his fate would be if Megatron decided to take custody of him, or gave him to another ‘Con to keep? If Megatron moved quickly, it could mess up the saboteur’s plans… _like kissing Soundwave_ \- Jazz hastily replayed that particular part of the plans. As if… _really excited just by the thought of a kiss_ , he leaned to the larger mech, hands wandering down from shoulders to sides, to the big buttons below and then lower, and to the interface panel cover.

“I’ll help you forget the old buckethead” Jazz purred, flashing a wicked grin for the camera. Soundwave tensed and opened his mouth to object to such seditious talk, but got distracted by a clever black finger lightly tracing circles around his interface panel. His mouth stayed slightly open as he gasped a sharp air intake. Then strong blue hands were stroking the saboteur’s hips and gently pushing at his legs, trying to move them apart. But Jazz slid out of Soundwave’s reach. He recalled Swindle patting his thighs, then cycled through half a stack of his recent memories of all that happened to his frame. Constructicons kicking him when he was down, seekers shooting at him, Ravage’s claws on his cheek, Vortex… Jazz tightly hugged his knees, staring ahead, frozen. Soundwave sighed. “Relax,” he ordered. And when that did nothing: “Query: what helps Jazz relax?”

His voice was full of such worry! Jazz felt almost sorry for the ‘Con (which feeling the saboteur tried to project, sans “almost”), except Soundwave was starring in the other half of that dark memory stack. Jazz chased that thought away for not fitting his plans, and said: “Are your cassettes in there?” He pointed at Soundwave’s chest. Depending on the answer, plans differed… _but all had more kisses._

Jazz switched to that imagery - _wasn’t our kiss hot?_ \- to distract himself from details of his plans, and from the recent disturbing slag in his life. _From the_ _other disturbing slag_ , he corrected himself lest he forgot the hot kiss was with his captor and enemy. Scrap, he wasn’t supposed to think that! Jazz hastily thought, _and now I want it_ , then just sat there for a few nanokliks, hugging his knees even tighter, unsure what “it” was, and lost in his own processor among all the half-truths and double meanings.

Jazz shook his head trying to clear it, shrugged, and said: “I just don’t trust other Decepticons.” That, at least, he knew for sure. He scooted close enough to tap on Soundwave’s chest, right on the purple ‘Con brand over the cassette compartment. “Would ya ask whoever’s in there to leave?” Soundwave quirked one corner of his mouth in surprise that turned into a thoughtful frown. Without the battle mask, his face was quite expressive. Was that why he wore his mask all the time? “Jazz: explain,” - the suspicious surveillance officer ordered, then added: “Cassettes: just watching. Like cameras,” and pointed at the ceiling.

Fraggit all! How the frag could he fragging forget that not a fragging klik ago he said he liked being watched? _Which was totally true_ , he hastily thought, _but now I have to explain such complicated scrap_. In spec ops, they spelled “complicated” as “failure.”

“Well, you asked,” - said Jazz, bidding for time, and seeing the imminent crash of his plan in Soundwave’s deepening frown. He was starting to tremble again, afraid that his plan might not work, that Soundwave would not believe him after all, and that he would have to go the more dangerous way, to kill… _myself, I’d rather die than go back to how it was, I can’t stand it!_ \- no, no, he had to try and explain.

“It’s different, Soundwave,” - he said quickly, - “You treat your cassettes like cameras...” Jazz’s fear flared into the displaced anger that wasn’t really about the little ‘Cons, and he blurted, “You can’t use mechs like things!” He wanted to play like… _to demonstrate_ that he was submitting, but he was so bad at it! _Come on, Jazz, stop scolding, mech, the slag’s wrong with your processor?_ He forced himself to speak softer. “They see, they remember, they’ve been in there before,” - he patted the cassette compartment, sliding his hand up a shoulder in a caress. “You set Ravage to guard me when I first got here...” Jazz winced as the telepath stiffened under his hand. This was still wrong, Soundwave must still be angry at him for hurting Ravage. “See what I mean?” - the saboteur said, mustering a crooked grin. “Now we are both upset. The cassettes, they are just lil’ mood killers.”

To think about it, when he had been with Blaster, Jazz had always wanted cassettes away, too. Because of the carrier bonds, the cassettes were sharing rather than just watching, and he sure didn’t wanna share Blaster… _share Soundwave..._ “What?” he said, confused by the telepath’s sudden knowing smile. “Jazz: jealous,” - Soundwave concluded triumphantly. Still off his game, Jazz sputtered something incoherent about self-deluding mechs, but Soundwave only shook his head and said, “Laserbeak: eject.” The bright red-white-black cassette transformed into his bird form and perched on his carrier’s shoulder, fixing Jazz with a steady unreadable stare. The telepath moved in a practiced manner, gently stroking delicate wires under the nearest wing, making the little cassette stretch and coo, and watching Jazz watching him. After half a klik, Laserbeak flew out and perched in the front room, probably following comm. orders. Jazz ex-vented in relief.

Soundwave went to the door and pushed a button on the console. The door slid closed. When the telepath turned back, Jazz lowered his knees to one side and put a hand on his hip, his pose shifting from _don’t touch_ to _come hither and play_. He smiled, waiting for… _waiting_.

Soundwave took a long look at the graceful saboteur, then rushed to the berth. He sat by Jazz and hugged him tight, hands and lips moving down the saboteur’s face, neck, and chest, tracing the sensitive seams… Jazz moaned, stroked the arms stroking him, and that’s all he could do. He felt overwhelmed. His frame was feverish despite all the fans working in full, his spark throbbed, and his processor reeled. He lost track of the doublethink game: he needed to go with it, _could not do it_ , _had to stretch the time,_ had to stop. He heard a click, saw Soundwave’s interface panel opening, and felt a signal - his very own, not a telepathic override - that would open his, were it still there. This was too much, _something was missing_ , he needed to change the plan, _there were things to remember,_ this was incredible, _the plan would interfere_.

Jazz was still stroking his captor’s shoulders and arms, if somewhat automatically. The saboteur had planned to do what they had been doing up to now, but hadn’t expected to feel what he had been feeling. He mumbled, “Slagging Pit, I want… How?.. Can’t we hold, can’t we stop, can’t we just pause everything?”

“Negative,” Soundwave replied, and Jazz felt a hand sliding up his inner thigh, making his motor rev up and his processor stall even more. As if his words and his thoughts weren’t jumbled enough, as if he wasn’t saying one thing and thinking several opposites! He had to slow down and figure it all out. Moving gently, more like a caress than a combat block, Jazz caught the insistent blue hand in both of his. The telepath didn’t stop when asked, reminding Jazz of the earlier despair, of helplessness, of Vortex... The saboteur’s voice was now laced with fear: “Come on, Soundwave! Just give me a klik!” The telepath’s hand withdrew, and Jazz ex-vented in relief.

Then he heard the familiar electromagnetic hum, and his wrist shackles snapped together.

In an instant he sobered, his processor swept clean of all traces of confusion. A strange sense of loss surfaced, then was gone. For sure Soundwave was still monitoring Jazz’s feelings, so he got a processor-full of disgust and anger directed at him. The saboteur was also livid at himself, and his fear was growing: the mech-he-was-not-thinking-of was late. He felt a telepathic push on his pleasure center, thought of Vortex and pain, and when that didn’t stop the intrusion, desperately grasped at a very different image.

Their telepathic link transported Soundwave to Jazz’s berthroom on the Ark. Bebop was blazing merrily. Jazz looked up with a smile, and met Blaster’s intense blue optics. Gentle hands hugged his shoulders and gentle lips held his in a hot, tender kiss. Their hips moved to the sound of music, Jazz thrusting his spike deep into…

Soundwave pulled out of Jazz’s processor and pushed off his frame, his arms lifted in dismay and his face sad and hurt. Then his battle mask snapped shut, hands clenched into fists, and interface panel clicked closed.

Jazz glared at his looming captor, shaking all over. “Jazz’s well-being: a concern,” he said in a bitter mockery, and lifted his shackled hands. “What can I contribute to our wonderful celebration - begging or screaming?”

It was at this moment that the door hissed open. Mirage was there, fully visible, half of his face covered in scratches and energon. In one hand he held his assault rifle, its muzzle glowing at the ready and aiming squarely at Soundwave’s spark. The other held up a limp Laserbeak, one wing trailing down. Soundwave gasped and his shoulder cannon hummed online.

Mirage stared past the telepath at Jazz’s locked hands. His face turned so furious that Jazz thought Soundwave would be shot then and there. Yet Mirage’s voice was cool, controlled, and following their plan: “Your bird is not damaged. Turn your weapon off, or he will be.” But Mirage added, a shade softer: “You can sense he’s okay, now that we are uncloaked.”

Soundwave’s cannon powered down. Mirage flexed his thumb and finger that held Laserbeak’s head up by the neck. “Anyone enters your quarters, and both of you die.”

Jazz went to stand by Mirage and said, “Throw me the shackle remote.” When the telepath did so, Jazz caught the device, turned off his shackles, and then crashed the remote underfoot. Now the saboteur could move well enough; they had no time to weld the heavy bands open. He took Laserbeak, and Soundwave tensed, but Jazz held the little mech gently and steadily. Or as steadily as his still-trembling frame allowed. Meanwhile, Mirage used his free hand to pull a pair of magnetic cuffs out of subspace. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he ordered.

Soundwave stirred as if to obey, then stopped and said, “Autobots: state intentions.” Mirage replied, waving his rifle a little, “Personally, I intended to offline you. But my officer here gave a different order.” Soundwave fixed Jazz with a long look, visor lingering on Laserbeak still limp in his hands. “Jazz: state intentions.”

Jazz sighed. “Right. Intentions. Mirage, shoot the slagger through his interface panel if he does not turn around on the count of three. One… Two…” Soundwave turned and put his still-clenched fists behind his back. Jazz returned Laserbeak to Mirage, cuffed the telepath, pushed him down to kneel by the berth, and magnetized a cuff to its side. He saw Soundwave trying to pull on the unyielding restraints, and grinned without mirth. “Oh, I got so many plans. Use your imagination, Soundwave. Because you’ll stay the frag out of my processor.” Jazz petted Soundwave’s helm and turned to Mirage. “Ya sure we don’t need any intel?”

“Nothing urgent, Jazz,” Mirage replied. “Let’s get out of here.” Laserbeak stirred, chirped, and his optics dimly lit. The spool of wire was still on the berthside table shelf. Jazz pinned the sluggishly struggling cassette to the berth and wound the remaining wire around his feet and wings. It took him a klik; Soundwave held stock-still, as if his whole frame was locked. Mirage said, “Soundwave, do convince Laserbeak to stay quiet and not to comm. anyone but you. We will take him with us and leave him by the exit.” The cuffed mech nodded, paused to comm. his cassette, then said very quietly: “Request: hide Laserbeak. To be left bound: dangerous.” The saboteur retorted, “Ha! Really?” and Soundwave’s vents audibly hitched. Jazz barely heard the whispered, “Please.”

Jazz gave the kneeling mech a hard stare but nodded. Soundwave ex-vented and sagged in relief. The saboteur passed Laserbeak to Mirage and also knelt in front of Soundwave. “Two kliks, Mirage,” Jazz said, and began to stroke Soundwave’s shoulders and then chest, heading down. Soundwave recoiled as much as his cuffs allowed. Jazz put hands behind the telepath’s neck and back in his best imitation of a tender hug, which probably felt like a steel brace. He smiled and purred: “Don’t go yet, my mech. That meeting can wait. We are having such good times!”

He licked along a seam, making the larger mech tremble. Jazz got up, moved behind Soundwave, and leaned over close to his audio, holding the telepath in place by the shoulders. He said, sing-song: “Ooh, that was incredible! I’ve never had better in berth.” He playfully nipped on the audio, and Soundwave jerked his helm away. Jazz’s tone became petulant. “I’ve been so bored all day without you. Tell me more about Megatron’s new weapon.”

Soundwave turned his head back to try and look at Jazz, visor flickering as if to blink away his confusion, then looked up to the other Autobot and said, “Jazz: under much strain. Processor glitches: highly probable.” Mirage only smirked.

Jazz grinned as well, climbed onto the berth, and lay across it on his back. His head hang upside-down while his fingertips teased Soundwave’s buttons, making the telepath flinch with every touch. Jazz’s pose was playful, but he spoke in a business-like manner: “Strain or not, the show must go on. With Swindle in medbay, who’s to continue recording?”

A low hum-whirr came from Soundwave’s chest, uncannily similar to the sound Blaster’s cassette compartment made on rare occasions when he was truly angry, but the telepath said nothing more. Jazz put his sappy smile back on, and hid his shackled wrist between the blue thighs, playing with the wires in the hip joint. Soundwave kept still for a few nanokliks, then failed and fidgeted again, as Jazz made his tone so ridiculously sweet he almost burst out laughing: “Let’s go to the washrack. I looove that thing you do with the showerhead. And then I have a great scene all planned out. I’ll crawl through the vents, and you’ll call the guards to fetch me! Everything's more fun with a little pain, dontcha think?” Jazz twisted a wire, and Soundwave cried out in surprise. Jazz said: “Aaand - cut!”

Finally allowing himself to chuckle out loud, Jazz stood up, went to the console, and jacked Mirage’s datapad into it. He clicked a few buttons, muttering: “Mirage, we got all that… And the old recordings. Now to delete the files... And to kill the cams...” There was an explosion of sparks in a corner of the ceiling.

Mirage called, “Jazz, let’s go already!” But Jazz subspaced the datapad, stood in front of Soundwave, and gently touched the closed battle mask with one finger. “Want a goodbye kiss?” he asked with a little sad smile, adding neither fake sweetness nor mockery to his voice. “Off camera.” Everything was perfectly still for a moment, then Soundwave retracted his mask. The saboteur caressed one exposed cheek and leaned down as parting lips reached up.

Jazz stepped back so abruptly Soundwave reeled out of balance and was only held up by his cuffs. The saboteur said icily, “Well, I don’t want any of that.”

He continued, warming up while Soundwave froze, as if the words siphoned energy between the two: “I will assemble a little movie about you and me. The story makes such a perfect sense. Soundwave is secretly in love with Jazz. They communicate - who better to arrange that than a saboteur and a surveillance officer? But secret meetings here and there are never enough. Fancy that, gentlemechs,” - Jazz turned to Mirage and Laserbeak, as if he had a great audience. “Our intrepid couple stage a kidnapping, have kinky jolly good times, then stage an escape when that pesky killjoy Megatron gets suspicious. The Autobot has fun, except for that unfortunate incident with Vortex, but more importantly, he spies for his faction. The Decepticon is blinded by the fire in his spark, not to mention the charge in his spike - or is it high treason? Watch the movie to the end to find out!”

Jazz’s salesperson smile faded when he turned back from the chuckling Mirage to the still-frozen Soundwave. “I’ll send you the script. Imagine all your tender goodbye and hello and goodnight kisses in one slow-mo sequence.” Jazz spread his hands expansively. “Excellent demo of your true feelings, right?”

Soundwave made a noise between a sharp sigh and a sob, closing his mask for some shelter as Jazz leaned in, grabbed his shoulders, and on each word shoved for emphasis: “Stay. The frag. Away. From me!” He stepped back and continued almost casually: “Or I will have my movie sent to Megatron through a ‘Con channel. He’ll probably shoot first and investigate later. If by some miracle you do get a court-martial, you’ll have no proof my spin is wrong. I just erased all your surveillance files. The recording will have all the right codes and signatures, because it’s from your own cams. Think of what will happen to your little cassettes after you offline. Maybe even before. I bet Vortex is still mad at you.”

Laserbeak chirped, straining to wrest out of his bonds, and even Mirage glanced at Jazz in surprise. Soundwave tore his gaze away from the saboteur and turned to his cassette, no doubt sending something soothing through their private comm.

Mirage spoke quickly, “Jazz, we should leave, now! Soundwave, listen well. We will be cloaked on the way out. If anyone whatsoever tries to stop us, we will assume it was you who alerted them. And Laserbeak will be the first casualty of that fight. If we leave without trouble, he can comm. you when he is out of my disruptor field.” Reminded of the dangers by his own words, Mirage added, “Jazz, are you still sure you don’t want them just shot?”

Jazz looked up and down their kneeling captive as if appraising him, then glanced at Laserbeak, and finally replied in a perfect imitation of Soundwave’s monotone: “Negative.”

Mirage shook his head, arguing against overly complicated plans as Jazz stepped close to him, arguing for restraint. A field shimmered around them, and in a nanoklik, they faded out of sight, hearing, EM, and all other senses.

**Epilogue**

_Soundwave was still as a kneeling statue, his visor focused on the spot where the Autobots disappeared with one of his creations. The telepath felt ill: his armor crawled, spark ached, and cheek burned where Jazz had last touched it. He held his back straight and his helm proudly high. If the Autobots still watched him, they would see no sign of his distress other than the too-bright visor, from his optical sensors set to their maximum. He also dialed his audio input all the way up, and his telepathic net was overextended, but no relevant data was incoming. Was Jazz on his way home - or still here, arguing with Mirage about execution? Soundwave clenched his denta and pressed his bound hands into even tighter fists, willing his frame not to flinch in this dataless void. In breems or nanokliks, a comm. message or a shot would come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on the next story in the series, where Soundwave is captured by the Autobots. Wish him, Jazz, and me luck!


End file.
